


our mother has been absent ever since we founded rome

by Plexus (toitsu)



Series: this house in not haunted [1]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, SO, don't tell me you weren't warned, fudging with some canon, i'll burn in hELL BUT I GIVE ZERO FUCKS?!, just implied but, so despite ratings, things are not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 01:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10400286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toitsu/pseuds/Plexus
Summary: he wants the amulet and you want the bridge and the loudest sound is the blender from the kitchen





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zlu_and_Luff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zlu_and_Luff/gifts).



> i would like to thank wonderful luff for getting me into den of sin. i regret nothing. title from 'up the wolves' by the mountain goats.

i.

you can't let your mother know.

there is no apple pie, you know, you haven't made any – which means she is trying, which means she is occupied and out of the way and maybe, _maybe_ she won't notice that he's got you cornered – but there she comes, sticks her head out of the kitchen a moment after the flash – you don't even hear what she says, just try to get between her and the _professor_ – you'd dearly love to offer your help, but she'd refuse, she'd say, _you two have fun together, you two behave,_ or whatever – and you don't want him out of your sight, and it will take her a while, and maybe you will have time to deal with him, get him out and lie to your mom, _he had to go, i don't know_ – he is changing again and you're clad in your armor and he wants the amulet and you want the bridge and the loudest sound is the blender from the kitchen –

don't let her know but if she must, if she _must_ , let it be his corpse and _not yours_ on the floor –

a flash, it's her again – _it will take a while_ – _no trouble, jim is just showing me around_ – she smiles, doesn't read your mind, _forget the pie mom come back_ –

you stomp your feet but he stomps back, and draal is the _worst_ guard ever and he knocks you back and hisses in your face, _i'm trying to protect you, you stupid boy_ and your armor is strong but there are knives pressing to your throat and you stumble back and sprawl over the table. he is upon you in an instant, half-climbing and pressing a knee to your shoulder, his teeth out and getting close -

i.

he is heavy over you, _heavy_ for such a lean _guy_ , eyes cold hard gold as he promises _i will hurt you if you don't do what i want,_ his teeth almost brushing your nose and you're no _stranger_ to fear ( _first rule, remember)_ but why won't she come out again, even if he changes it will still look bad _please mom –_

you choke on a whimper, _don't let her see, don't let her know_ as you feel a knife grazing your skin and your armor – your armor – the plates are sturdy, the plates can absorb a lot, but there are softer underparts and they are – he is – he has a lot of knives. he has a lot of knives and says, _i don't want to do this,_ says, _just give me the amulet –_

she returns with a pie and a smile and faint stink of smoke and saves the day.

i.

dessert is incredibly awkward to get through – trying not to hurt your mom's feelings and smiling with mouth full of whipped-cream-and-soot-underneath and trying to keep him in your sight and yet – recoiling a little when he looks back, your _teacher_ with flash of gold in poison green eyes. he lies _almost_ easily to your mom, _delicious pie, never had better,_ touches her hand and she laughs – _why are you so blind mom can't you see he is all weird –_ you must've missed what he said next, if he said anything, but he wouldn't dare in front of her, so brazenly, without reason, _would he,_ to reach over and _pet_ your hair – fingers curling and pulling hard where she can't see – _you have a wonderful son,_ he starts to say and then her phone rings, and she excuses herself again – he still has you in his grip, yanks you out of chair when she leaves.

before your armor is up the sharp edge of the table digs into your hips. the scuffle is short but vicious and in the end you grab your amulet and he pretends he found his _lens_ and she has to leave, apologises, she is needed, and you breathe in relief because he has no excuse to stay anymore, slam the door in his face – when you are finally alone you almost forget to be angry at draal and – _claire? what's she doing here –_ ah, just _whatever –_

it's quiet when you drag yourself to the bedroom at last, dark and quiet and your bed is so close and – he sits there, where you _sleep_ , face grim and eyes poison green.

i.

it unsettles you that he doesn't change, that he wears the _human_ face, the one you've known for so long, tendrils of cold dread flaring through your limbs, but not enough, not enough for amulet to _react_ even as he stalks across the pitiful distance, crowds you against the wall – teeth bared and hissing same threats –

and you want to be brave, you want to say, say _do your worst (please stop)_ but you are honestly – _honestly -_ growing terrified.

he doesn't change but once again there are knives and your sword – your sword doesn't answer the call.

i.

you dodge for a moment or two or ten, throw whatever is at hand, staying out of his reach but it's hard when he backs you in a corner and he is armed – and the amulet, what is _wrong_ with it, why won't it _do anything_ -

it doesn't hurt at first, the cut, but then it burns. the shock of it makes you stumble and cry. but you do it without a sound.

i.

your blurry eyes make his face look strange, like he is hesitating, like he is considering, like he might get up and leave – but he probably isn't, and he doesn't, leans closer in fact (it would be easier to bear, perhaps, if he didn't still wear _green_ eyes) – _your little trinket won't help you anymore, it's out of your hands now –_ what does he _mean –_ and he – wraps fingers around your neck, curls his other hand around your – leg? – _rips_ the fabric of your pants apart – his teeth are colder than the knives were when they settle on your skin and he says, _young atlas,_ he whispers, _you're all mine –_

the cold dread has been making itself at home in the pit of your stomach for a while. but now there is something else, something _worse_. and it hurts. and it doesn't _._

_stop._

once it starts.

 

  


End file.
